


Stagnation

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Break Up, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Intervention, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Solavellan Hell, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 17:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21212558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: After the Exalted Council, Fen'Herah does her best to keep the Inquisition afloat. But the pressures of the past two years have worn heavy on her, and she runs away to Kirkwall to try to drown her problems out. Though she has reason to grieve, Varric won't let her do it alone.





	Stagnation

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I kinda just stopped Kinktober. I've had a shit ton of stress lately and it got to me and I just couldn't. Instead, this lovely little plot bunny popped into my mind when I woke up in the middle of the night and demanded to be written, so here ya go. Super angst FTW.

Varric stood outside Fen’Herah’s Kirkwall estate, absently chewing on the inside of his lip as he hemmed and hawed over whether he should use the key in his pocket to enter. He’d tried knocking several times over the past couple of days, but she had never responded and at this point he was getting a little … concerned.

The Exalted Council had been enlightening, if nothing else, proof that the Inquisition was still needed in some capacity. Despite the stress and the trauma of everything that had happened and everything that had been revealed during that whole Dragon’s Breath escapade, Herah had been adamant about keeping the Inquisition as intact as possible. And she’d done a helluva job, he had to admit, standing her ground against both Fereldan and Orlais as they vied to either dismantle or absorb the organisation that the Dalish mage had tirelessly worked to build. Despite Cassandra and Leliana starting it off, Herah had taken it and run with it until no one could ever claim it was anything but hers. Even though she endured heartache after heartache, losing soldiers and agents and civilians all the same, fighting through battles and skirmishes and even the Fade itself – Varric still shivered with the memories of that place – losing sleep constantly trying to stay one step ahead of Corypheus, up to and including finding and then losing her great love … she had endured all of it, taken the burden of the world on her shoulders, and despite the losses and the setbacks, she always moved ever forward.

In all honestly, he hadn’t even been sure she would take him up on the offer on an estate in Kirkwall. After all, the city still had a long ways to go in terms of rebuilding. As far as city-states in the Free Marches, it definitely wasn’t high on anyone’s list of places to even visit, much less live. But it was home, and Herah was a close friend, and he felt the need to offer her a place of reprieve, if she ever deemed that she needed it.

The message he’d received one day, bright and early, had Bran knocking sharply on his door. Moaning, he’d muttered, “Can’t we go one day without something urgent waking me up?”

But instead of pleas for more workers to clear the rubble from the harbour because the last batch had quit already or personal drama in the Merchant’s Guild or even yet another missive from Starkhaven, Bran had shoved a letter covered in familiar, tiny, swirling handwriting. “What are we going to do?” he demanded, ignoring the fact that Varric was completely naked under the covers as he continued, “I told you, these things have proper channels to go through, no doubt certain nobles will protest and push back. You could lose your seat as Viscount if you don’t delay her!”

Still waking up, he rubbed the crusties from his eyes, grabbing the letter and skimming it, a creeping grin starting to grow as his brain started to catch up to what was happening. “Looks like we have an estate to prepare, then.”

“But how?” Bran began, taking a deep breath to continue before Varric held up a hand.

“You hire the workers and have it cleaned and ready, I’ll deal with everything else.” Snorting, he couldn’t help but add, “And don’t worry about the Viscount seat. If this is the worst that anyone else has done, I’d be surprised. Besides, nobody wants the damn job anyway.” Mumbling further about how he could probably shoot someone between the eyes in Hightown during midday and get away with it – with the Kirkwall citizenry deeming that the victim likely “had it coming” and “deserved it” before turning around the ignoring it – he’d risen and dressed and, true to his word, smoothed over any rough edges that might have resulted from him simply awarding the estate to his friend.

She’d arrived within two days, a little paler and more gaunt than he last remembered at the Exalted Council, but smiling nonetheless. Well, if he was being honest, that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but he was so damn happy to see a friendly familiar face, he ignored it for the time being, pulling her in for a hug instead. Despite being tired – who wouldn’t be after that kind of trip, after all – she allowed him to show her all around the city, both Hightown and Lowtown alike, and he even treated her to a drink in the famed Hanged Man. It was there that his suspicions started to ramp up just a little as she drank a little faster, a little more than he remembered. But they were both older and both had ample reasons, reasons that neither of them broached that night, so he left any concerns unsaid.

But now … now it had been a week since she’d arrived, and besides that first day, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since. Not that he expected her to hang around the Viscount’s office all day – hell, even he didn’t want to do that – but not even hearing a peep from her seemed odd. She’d been a frequent visitor when he was a part of the Inquisition, whether it was the support and stability he offered in Haven when she was the newly christened Herald of Andraste and needed a firm foundation or when she just needed a friend to help her feel like the person she was instead of the Inquisitor she was so famed to be in Skyhold. In her letter, she’d mentioned needing a break, and he could certainly understand that considering everything she’d been doing for over two damn years. But he’d made sure the estate was in great condition for her moving in, even if it was only temporary, going so far as to procure some pieces of furniture and even a few knick-knack types of décor just so it looked a bit more homey and lived in, so it wasn’t like she had to spend time cleaning the place (and honestly, what kind of friend would he have been to throw a fixer-upper at her?). He’d knocked here and there just in the last forty-eight hours, initially thinking that perhaps she had ducked out and simply wasn’t home, but a quick consultation with the guards confirmed that she’d left only once, the day after she arrived, and hadn’t emerged since.

Worry had dug at the pit of his stomach until he finally grabbed the key and walked over to her estate. Sure, he could have picked the lock, but he figured that if he was a Viscount now he should probably act like one now and then. And despite the very personal nature of entering an abode uninvited, he reminded himself that not only was she a good friend that was acting a little off, it was his duty to see to the well-being of the citizens of Kirkwall, both old and new. So, if anything, he was self-reporting a needed welfare check and also personally following up. As much as he didn’t really want to pry, he knew he needed to, and so after a deep sigh, he pulled the key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock.

The door opened without further fanfare, his initial greeting going unanswered as he closed it behind him. A cold chill swept down his spine, not entirely to do with the fact that the hearth was empty and the house unheated. Dread pooled in his gut as he carefully traversed from the lower level to the top, peeking in rooms, seeing them mostly undisturbed, anxiety knotting tighter and tighter as it almost seemed like the place was empty.

Until he got to the master bedroom, that is, and he finally found her. Sitting on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, bare feet sticking out, her remaining hand gripped the neck of bottle of some sort of alcohol. The place reeked of wine and brandy, uncorked and empty bottles scattered haphazardly, curtains drawn tight and sheets hanging half-way off the bed. Her dark hair, usually tied up in intricate, shiny braids, hung loose and dull around her face. He was so shocked at the sight, he simply blinked for a moment, taking a second to process the scene before him before he gently prompted, “Herah?”

Her head whipped up in his direction at the sound of his voice, and even with the limited light provided by the sun leaking around the curtains and through the windows in the hallway, he could tell her eyes were glazed and bloodshot. “Varric?” she questioned, her voice thick and hoarse, and his heart broke a little more as he approached her. “What are you doing here?” she slurred, eyeing him as he stooped to eye level.

“Haven’t heard from you in a week, got a little concerned …” As his gaze swept over the contents of the room, he sighed, “Seems that wasn’t misplaced.”

“’S fine,” she motioned with the bottle, blanket falling off of her shoulder, exposing a shoulder and clavicle that was far more defined than it should have been.

“No, it’s not,” he said gently, hand slowly reaching out to touch her shoulder, praying to the Maker that she wouldn’t suddenly get hostile like some drunks were want to do. “C’mon, when’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

She shrugged as she actually allowed him to help her to her feet, though she still carefully kept a hold of the bottle of wine in her hand. “Dunno.”

He sighed again. “That’s not good, Rifty,” he chided softly as they made their way down to the kitchen.

She let out a bark of laughter that he would have taken as a good sign if it hadn’t have sounded so hollow. “Can I really be Rifty anymore, though? You know, on account of no mark …”

Varric winced. That had been a dumb mistake, the name slipping out before he even gave it a second thought. “I’ll come up with another nickname for ya, how about that?”

Herah waved it off as she plopped down at the table, slumping over as she pulled the blanket as tight around her as she could manage with one arm and a bottle in her hand. Varric immediately set to starting up a fire, and from the looks of things, it didn’t seem like she’d ever made one since she’d moved in. Shaking his head, he grabbed a kettle and filled it with some water for tea along with some bread for toast, hoping that a little something in her stomach would help absorb the alcohol and make a difference. This self-destructiveness of hers was new, at least as far as he was aware, and he felt like he was in a bit over his head with this. After all, he wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue or a great example, himself, but Herah was a friend that he cared for and he knew he had to do something.

Setting the food in front of her, she eyed it carefully but didn’t make a move for it. “Come on, you gotta get something in you,” he prompted. At that, she raised her bottle and took a swig, and he rolled his eyes and grabbed it from her. “Something that isn’t alcohol.” She pouted, but he took it as a good sign that she reached for the tea and sipped without protesting further. Here goes nothing … “So what’s going on?” Tearfully, she shook her head as he took a bite of the toast, a bit of smeared butter and jam catching on the outside of her lip, but he wasn’t going to let her off that easy. “Don’t do that, Herah, this isn’t like you. What is it? I know you said you needed to get away, but holing up in Hightown and drinking every day doesn’t count as a vacation. I need to know what’s wrong.”

Setting the toast down, she licked her lips and took another sip of tea, a tear slipping down her cheek unbidden as she murmured, “I just … I dunno … I feel lost.”

“Lost? Lost how?” he gently prompted, tone low and gentle so he wouldn’t come off as accusatory.

The hint of a smile edged at her lips, but he could tell it wasn’t sincere. “Just seems like everyone’s moving on and here I am, stuck in the past, still dealing with bullshit that I didn’t ask for just like I’ve been doing for over two years now.”

He took her concern seriously as he asked, “Do you wanna stop being Inquisitor? Retire? I mean, you’ve more than earned it. I’m sure Divine Victoria could find someone else if she needed to …”

Herah shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s all I know now, everything that I was preparing for my whole life is gone. I don’t really have anything else.”

“You have me. And being a Comtesse in Kirkwall is getting cushier by the day.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sighing heavily, she rubbed her brow, and Varric gave her the time and space to compose what she wanted to say. And, finally, she did. “My clan sent me to the Conclave to see that the shem didn’t muck things up any worse than they already were. And … well, you know how that went …” she chuckled, and Varric counted it a blessing that it wasn’t hollow like before, “I wrote letters to my clan as often as I could. The trip to Haven had been the first time I’d left, and I’d begged and pleaded with the Keeper to send anyone else, but she wouldn’t hear it. It was hard, being away from them, even with the new friends I found and forged with the Inquisition.” She paused to take another bite of toast and sip of tea and Varric continued to remain silent, letting his friend talk as much as she wanted. “When the other Free Marchers wiped them out in Wycome, a part of myself died with them, and not even the comfort Solas gave me could ease that pain.” She sniffed, reaching up to wipe away the tears that gathered, and Varric leaned over to grasp her shoulder in a wordless, supportive gesture. “Up to that point, I still thought I could go back. That once we’d defeated Corypheus I could just go home and resume the life I’d been living. Maybe that was the truth, maybe it was just an illusion I sold myself, but either way it ended then and there.”

Varric well remembered the slaughter of Clan Lavellan. He’d sent word to any contacts he had, trying to dissuade the other city-states from taking action, but his messages were either ineffectual or arrived too late. He remembered Herah waiting to hear news, practically bouncing from foot to foot and dashing up the stairs whenever she heard ravens come in. And then that last time, when the news broke and she came running back down, freely sobbing, not caring to put up that carefully constructed mask that Josephine had helped her make and wear … it had hurt him to see her like that. To her enemies she was fierce, determined and unrelenting, an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, undeterred by any obstacle they threw in her path, much to their own chagrin. To the rest of Thedas she was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste despite her Dalish heritage, a hero and a saviour standing at the edge of the abyss, keeping evil at bay. But, as she’d told him once, she was just a person, and in that moment when the mask cracked, they all shared her pain. Varric had never been particularly close with his family, but she obviously had been, and no amount of condolences could ever wash away that ache.

“And then, I thought …” she began, starting to stutter slightly, the sobs starting to break through, “… I thought that, at least I had Solas to start over with once it was all over. That once we put Corypheus down, he and I could wander and roam to our heart’s content. He could show me all the things in the Fade that he’d told me about and we could make a future for ourselves. And …” she could speak no more as she choked up, tears pouring down her cheeks as she held her head in her hand and let it flow, unable to stem the tide any longer.

That whole … thing … had come at a huge surprise to any who knew the couple. While they didn’t exactly make out in the halls or lavish affection on each other in public, it was obvious to anyone to saw them that they were in love. Between the furtive glances shared, the smiles exchanged, the quiet conversations that no one could quite overhear, they seemed like the perfect little Elven lovebirds. It was sickening, really. Hell, it almost inspired Varric to write another romance serial. So when they briefly left Skyhold and came back, Solas stone-faced and Herah’s lip quivering as she avoided looking at him, he’d had a sinking feeling he knew what happened, even if he didn’t understand why. Her friends had comforted her in turn, from himself to The Iron Bull and Dorian to Sera, even, all of them pitching in and supporting her unquestionably. She had never talked about it beyond the basics, barely expounded upon it after explaining that he’d told her the truth about the Vallaslin and removed it per her request. Varric had tried to get her to open up more, but she’d brushed him off, insisting they had work yet to do. Even after, however, she never did say anything, and then Solas left and that was that.

Two long years had passed between then and the Exalted Council, during which he’d returned to Kirkwall and started aiding in the rebuilding process, eventually landing the position of Viscount. They had kept in touch – her letters being some of the few he actually looked forward to – but it just wasn’t the same. When they met again at the Winter Palace, there was a bit of a reserved air about her, something she hadn’t really had before. He’d chalked it up to stress and dealing with more and more politics, as she’d had to do once the initial threat of Corypheus was gone. Granted, that may have been some of it, but after she shut down the Dragon’s Breath operation and found out who Fen’Harel was … the Dwarf suspected she wasn’t quite over that break up like she’d said she was.

If there was one last thing Chuckles did for her, it was give her the motivation to keep the Inquisition going. And so once more, she’d thrown herself into her work with a passion and he returned to Kirkwall and once more they had been reduced to writing letters. So when he’d received her letter and she’d been talking about needing a little vacation and wanting to come to Kirkwall, he’d thought nothing more of it. She’d been working non-stop for over two years now with a huge burden of responsibility on her shoulders. In his eyes, she was past due for a little time off. So to see her collapsing in sobs at her kitchen table, still distraught over her estranged lover, he realised then that while she may have had her own quarters in Skyhold, there were eyes and ears everywhere tracking her comings and goings, and she needed to grieve this part of her life in peace.

Varric opened his mouth to say something, but before he could even get a word, she blurted out, “He used me! It was his orb that Corypheus had and it was his fault he got his hands on it. When Corypheus didn’t die like he thought he would, he came running to the Inquisition to fix his mistake. And for what? So he can tear down the Veil himself? As if anyone’s going to destroy the world, it has to be him?” Rubbing at her eyes, she added, “I sometimes wonder if he really even loved me at all, or if he just told me what he thought I wanted to hear so I would do what he wanted, leading me on like a stupid little naïve girl.”

She made to grab for the bottle that Varric had taken, but he was too quick for her, snatching it out of her reach with a, “Ah ah ah.” Instead of fight him for it, she simply slumped over at the table once more, toast only half eaten and tea gone cold.

“You know,” she began, her voice so quiet and soft he had to strain to listen to her, “I sometimes wish I hadn’t been so curious that day. That I hadn’t gone poking around the Temple of Sacred Ashes and stumbled onto the ritual. Then I never would have met him, and then I wouldn’t have to be this lonely.”

Seeing her still this heartbroken over Solas had Varric’s hackles raised, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to punch Chuckles right in the mouth … even if he needed a footstool for the reach. It seemed like she’d run out of words to speak with, and so he took the opportunity to remind her, “Hey, I’m here. And I know Dorian gave you a sending crystal, and pretty much everybody would drop anything they have to write you. Even Vivienne in her poncy Mage Tower.” That at least got a snort out of her, as he knew her and Viv didn’t get along that well. Still, Vivienne was ever loyal to the Inquisitor, despite their differences, and he knew that if she truly needed help and reached out, that Madam de Fer would respond.

Herah shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me.”

Sighing, she elaborated, “After Corypheus, and then again after the Exalted Council … I feel like I’m the only one still where I’m at. You came back to Kirkwall, Dorian went back to Tevinter, Vivienne to wherever – I don’t care – Cassandra started rebuilding the Seekers, Cullen retired to start an organisation to help wean Templars off lyrium …” her voice trailed off for a moment and she stared out the window, the bright sunshine a sharp contrast to her mood, “… everyone else left and moved on with their lives, but I’m still stuck living a life I never asked for, a destiny that started completely by chance, and I don’t even have my love with me.” Her gaze dropped back to the table, to the wood grain that the tips of her fingers traced as her teeth worried at her lip. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for everyone, I wouldn’t want them to stagnate like I have, I just … I just wish I could move on, too.”

Varric let her sentiment hang in the air for a moment before he asked, “Then why don’t you?”

She chuckled again, this time a bitter edge colouring it as she answered, “I don’t know how. Despite this not being what I wanted with my life, not what I’d hoped and dreamed for, it’s all I know now. I’m just … stuck.”

The echo of what she’d told him earlier hung heavy in the air, and Varric understood that her “vacation” as she’d termed it was her way of running away, because she felt trapped and didn’t know what else to do. But whatever she needed to do, however she needed to do it, this wasn’t it. Wrapping an arm around her, he said, “I get it, I do. You do something long enough, you don’t really know how to stop or change gears. This whole situation is complicated, and whether or not you want to go back to being Inquisitor is up to you. What I know for sure is that you need a break, a long overdue one. And I also know that shutting yourself in here and drinking for days on end isn’t going to help. You can’t find peace at the bottom of a bottle.”

Lifting her tear-filled gaze to him, she looked utterly defeated as she asked, “Then what do I do?”

She looked so utterly lost that Varric couldn't help but pull her close and let her lean on his shoulder. “We take this one day at a time, sweetheart. And I’ll be with you, every step of the way.”


End file.
